#Especially in his 30's era

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

You. You get it 🥹

Stan taking Ford's identity is so NotThem from The Magnus Archives coded send tweet

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

Say what you will about Van Helsing 2004; hate it, love it, be indifferent, But the All-Hallow's masquerade ball went sooooo hard and it had zero right to do so! It's a fun, campy, monster mash movie with wonderfully dated ( and expensive) cgi and non-stop action meant to be a popcorn flick one takes out to watch around spooky season. And it has this* chef's kiss* GORGEOUS 6 minute sequence plopped arbitrarily in the second act, which unexpectedly surpasses nearly every other ball in the last 30+ years of film( notable exception being the Cinderella 2015 ball) for literally no reason other than to be dramatic af.

Like feast your eyes on this Gothic masterpiece!!! Who doesn't want to immediately live in this picture?!??

They used those candles with oil in them so that they would have real candles, real string orchestra( I believe), probably around 100 real life extras( something which is tragically absent in modern film), said extras are all in beautiful fully decked-out costumes( which are in luxuriously dark colours, but nearly no fully black, another thing you cannot say for much modern cinema), REAL CIRQUE DU SOLEIL PERFORMERS for all the acrobatics!!!! Hell, instead of filming in a sound stage, where they could control the reverb and the acoustics and the size of the set and the bloody lighting ( they apparently had a heck of a time emulating the firelight for this sequence) and the temperature( it's very cold in stone churches!) better, they filmed in a Baroque church in Prague! As I said, peak dramatic splendour, jfc...

Think about that a second...They filmed a vampire masquerade in a Baroque Catholic Church( St. Nicholas' in Lesser Town, if you were curious) with amazing over-the-top acoustics and marble statues and real, tiled floors and marble pillars and a choir loft which they very much utilized, covered the pipe organ and the altar with a grand brocade curtain so it wouldn't be so obviously a, you know, a church! And there's a gold gilt elevated and canopied pulpit into which they put two vampire kiddies for, again, the sake of being dramatic.

And the costumes! They remind me of the 25th anniversary Phantom of the Opera Masquerade costumes. Same quality, like they're old, well-cared-for costumes pulled out of a warehouse, instead of fast industry churn-outs. With lots of trim and colour and masks and lace and feathers and..just...ugh.. they are all perfect! Just look at all the head pieces on the ladies and the hats on all the gentleman ( save Dracula of course) and the powdered wigs on the musicians. ANNNNDD! The dresses are historically correct!!!!!! It's the 80's bustle era! Nobody does the 80's bustle era in film anymore and it's a bummer. Oh and one other thing! Anna's ( and other women's) hair, at least here in the ball, is also historically accurate because it's all pinned up! None of those fucken modern beachwaves at a ball! Everybody's got updo's!

Gah, I swear, Dracula in his gold cloak really does things to me in this scene!

By the way, the acrobatics are bonkers in here for just background stuff!! Especially the random guys on unicycles and the dude playing the violin whilst standing on a ball...Like....WHAT?

Anyways, all this to say, that this masquerade ball feels sooo real and tangible and because of that it blows every other film out of the water, and no, I will not change my mind!!!!!

Here's a few more gifs, bcuz, why the hell not, this scene is sexy as fuu*ck?

Alright I need to go to bed now.

[callmerainman]

Alastor with a pure hearted s/o

a/n I'm fully aware that Alastor is aroace. My scenarios are meant to be interpreted as a deep, unconditional love, not necessarily romantic. I'm not aroace but I'm all for educating myself, so please if something's off let me (gently) know. Hope you enjoy :)

TW! canon typical violence

being a twisted person is not a requirement to reincarnate in Hell. Sins depend on religion, culture, societal norms. You were more of a victim, in fact.

you never got used to being in Hell. Surviving not only the Extermination but also the inhabitants becomes harder and harder every year.

it's kill or be killed, but you just can't bring yourself to do any harm to anyone, even if it means risking your own life.

as soon as you hear about princess Charlie Morningstar's new hotel for souls who want a second chance, your bags are PACKED

it's not like you really need redemption, you are pure hearted already. it's more a matter of understanding the reasons why you ended in Hell and coming to terms with them. maybe then the gates of Heaven would open for you. it's also a safer place for you to be.

Charlie welcomes you excitedly; Angel Dust, Husk and Vaggie aren't that friendly at first since your personalities don't match, but they eventually grow fond of you

and then there's, well...the Radio Demon.

you never met an Overlord before, and Alastor was supposed to be gone for years. But his presence wasn't frightening. A big smile spread across his face, he welcomed you like a gentleman.

you heard stories about his lifestyle and even previous murderous acts as a human, but for some reason you just can't bring yourself to fear him.

at first you were kinda pathetic to him. so naive, out of touch with the evils of Hell. he didn't dislike you. just thought your life was so easy to throw away in a society like that and that you wouldn't last long.

it seems like you two don't have much to share. he just wanders in his den, while you spend time in your room. you greet each other and have small talks, but nothing more than that. that's until he hears jazz music play behind your door.

he mentions it during dinner, and you start talking about your interest in 30s jazz music, especially the one of the Roaring 20s. you come from a later era, but you're very much cultured about jazz and its forms and that's enough for Alastor to develop an interest in you.

he has so many jazz artists recommendations, and you share some of your favourite pieces with him through your gramophone.

without even noticing, Alastor starts spending hours in your room just listening to music. some time even practicing swing dancing. and talking about jazz culture all around the world, and entertainment in general. he has many fun facts about the history of radio too!

the others at the hotel notice your growing bond and low-key support it, in their own, weird way. Angel Dust is especially convinced that you two are hooking up, as Husk not-so-kindly explains that it's more likely for Alastor to ascend to Heaven than express interest in sex.

you would start to open yourself up a bit to the Radio Demon. he doesn't understand why, since it didn't ask or never showed much empathy. but he just can't bring himself to tell you to stop. he wants to listen.

you manage to make him talk about some glimpses of his own life and thoughts. you knew that he was the complete opposite of you. incline to Evil, an enjoyer of all things that made your stomach clench. but he's still the one person who spends hours with you just listening to both jazz and your fears.

one day, Alastor decided that in no way you are walking around the city without him. it's just too dangerous for you. he tries to teach you how to use weapons and demonic powers to defend yourself but he doesn't feel like you can make it into Hell by yourself.

you like strolling through the streets with him, arms intertwined, chatting and laughing even if demons around you are shitting their pants just by seeing the Overlord walking around.

but one day, Alastor can't find you.

you're not in your room, or in the Hotel hall. No one saw you that morning. He starts to feel something he never felt in his life: fear.

he darts out the Hotel, trying to find you. that's when he sees you just a few streets away.

a group of animal-like demons is encircling you. you are on your knees, arms over your head to protect yourself. A lion-demon is holding a knife over you and your arms are covered in cuts. you hold something close to your stomach.

that's when Alastor realized that he had feelings for you.

when he threw himself between you and the demons attacking you.

it's the first time you see Alastor without a smile. his teeth are gritted, face full of unprecedented violence and will to kill, breathing heavily in and out in a sort of animalistic way, but there's no trace of his characteristic smile you love.

his body starts to morph into his full demon form. his horns grow exponentially, his body too as it hovers menacingly on top of your aggressors as they start to feel a pure fear they never felt before.

in a matter of a second, they are gone. Alastor has always been a calculated, elegant killer, but this time he only felt a raw, ferocious instinct to kill.

as he's done, he turns around towards you. he doesn't want to, but he snaps.

"W̶̞̐H̷̻͒Y̷̰̅ ̶̠͛D̸͕́I̸͔̍D̴̿͜ ̷̯̇Y̶̭͌Ỏ̴̬U̵̖̍ ̷̛͎Ģ̷̕O̸̩͑ ̷̹̈́O̶̮͆U̸͍̇T̴̙͆ ̷̧̀W̴͓̅I̷̞͑T̸̗͒H̴̹͒O̴̺̓Ṷ̵̂T̵̺̚ ̵̢́M̴̜̅E̶̬̋?̸̻͋!̸̦͂"

you flinch, you never saw Alastor lose his composure. he was always so calm and collected. his voice was static, choppy.

the tears that were cornering your eyes start streaming down your face "I-I..."

"Ţ̶̈Ḧ̴͙́Ė̵̩Ỳ̷̳ ̷̳̒Ã̸̡L̷̛͚M̶͇̚O̸͈̔S̴̜̎T̸͚̊ ̷̤͝K̷͊͜I̵̺͝L̵͚̎L̴̤̆Ẽ̴͖D̶͍̈́ ̵̻͝Y̵̰̑O̸̜͘Ù̶͍!̵̻͝ ̸͓̾D̴̯͒O̶̅͜Ṉ̶̌'̷̹͒T̵͎͋ ̶̺́Y̴̹͂O̶͍̅U̴̘͌ ̵̘̾Û̷̪N̸̩̊D̵͎̋Ȅ̴͜R̵̮͂S̸̰̄T̸̝̅A̵͓͘N̷̩͂Ḏ̴̀?̵̗̍!̸̭̎"

suddenly, your bleeding arms fall from your head. you expose what you've been protecting all along.

a vinyl, a really old record from Alastor's favourite jazz artist. a rare find.

"I-I know but...tomorrow it's your death anniversary and I wanted to give this to you...as a surprise. I'm sorry"

Alastor's face immediately softens. Eyebrows raised, smile still not seen. He's just surprised and...moved.

He doesn't say anything, he just picks you up in his arms and takes you back to the Hotel where he bandages your arms.

Feeling guilty for putting yourself in danger, you ask Alastor to come to your room in order to apologize to him.

As he closes the door behind him, he says that there's no need to apologize.

"I'm...glad that you are still in your room. Listening to jazz, alive"

words didn't come easy, but he did feel the need to say it. you smile at him.

you propose to put his gift on the gramophone and so you do. music starts to flow between the small space you shared with the Radio Demon.

that's when you and Alastor start slow dancing. his arms around your waist, yours encircling his neck. his smile is back, but soft and...almost loving.

with his silent agreement, you reach for his cheek and graze it.

"Thank you for saving me, Alastor. Even if you are everything I distance myself from in this life...I'm glad you are the person that you are with me. In my next life, I'll make sure to be a sinner again if it means dancing with you like this"

Alastor now understands his feelings. It's something deeper than care. It's love. But not the same love you reserve to a friend and not even romantic. It's something deeper, more visceral.

He doesn't answer, just closes his eyes and leans in to press his forehead against yours.

you later fall asleep on your bed to the quiet sound of the gramophone playing, hands intertwined on Alastor's chest.

[cobragardens]

Aziraphale's Ring Is a Queer Symbol

In a previous post I hold forth about the symbolism of the lion rampant on the escutcheon of Aziraphale's signet ring. The upshot is that the golden lion is used by Heaven as a symbol of its threat and its merciless, murderous corporate culture, and I argue that in S3 Aziraphale must subvert this stamp of Heavenly ownership and symbolically redefine the golden lion by summoning the courage to be soft.

Now I've learned some new stuff about how signet rings are worn. Come, sistren, and get nerdy with me.

Aziraphale's ring is one of several we see angels wearing in Good Omens. Here in an indispensably useful post, @indigovigilance lists the known rings of Show Omens angels and those rings' qualities and placement. Note how of the angels who have rings, everyone except Saraqael and Aziraphale wear their rings on their LEFT pinky fingers. There's a reason for this.

Since the medieval period in Britain and Germany, and from there in the U.S., signet rings have been bestowed by professional associations as a sign of membership, particularly at the upper end of society: trade guilds, colleges, hospitals, the Church(es), noble families, and societies like the Freemasons all issue(d) signet rings to some of their members. The traditional placement for signet rings of show professional affiliation is the left pinky finger.

In fact, as it was not socially acceptable in or past the Victorian era for men to wear rings on more than one finger, men who wore signet rings and wedding rings both would have their wedding rings sized to fit the pinky finger below the signet. If a ring had to be moved to preserve masculinity, it wasn't the pinky ring that was going anywhere. Family signets can be worn on any of a number of fingers, but since the Victorian period the men of the British Royal Family (who are from Germany) have been especial sticklers about wearing their signets on their left pinky fingers as well.

So. If you're British and you have a signet ring that's meant to indicate professional affiliation, you wear it on your left pinky.

But Aziraphale wears his signet ring on his RIGHT hand.

Before I offer my opinion on what that means, here's some more fun background on the history and significance of pinky rings in Anglo-American culture:

The Victorian period was when pinky rings started to become associated with queerness.

As fellow members of the Hundred Guineas Club, Oscar Wilde and Aziraphale would likely have been acquaintances.

According to Wikipedia (ibid.):

"During the Victorian era, both single men and women uninterested in pursuing marriage could wear a ring on the little finger of their left hand."

This quickly expanded to a pinky ring on either hand. Here's Wikipedia's picture of farmer and philanthropist Caroline Rose Foster in 1917, the Edwardian era, wearing a pinky ring on her right hand:

Do you smell a euphemism in "uninterested in pursuing marriage"? I do!

By midcentury--so only 30 years after Ms Foster up there--American and British queers, both men and women, were using signet pinky rings specifically to signal queerness to each other.

"For gay men in the 1950’s and 60’s, a way of signaling to others was through the wearing of a signet ring on the pinkie finger."

"During the 1950’s and 60’s signet rings were worn to signify membership of the gay community; both lesbians and homosexual men wore such rings."

The pinky rings @indigovigilance points out Maggie wears may mean she's an angel; they also match her midcentury lesbian style. Devious of the costumers to give her pinky rings on both hands rather than commit to one or the other.

Screenshot by @indigovigilance

To review, there are three reasons a person in Anglo-American culture might wear a pinky ring:

They just feel like it--This can be any kind of ring and can be worn on either hand or both

Professional affiliation--This is a signet ring worn on the left pinky finger

To signal queerness--This is a signet ring and can be worn on either pinky finger

Aziraphale has worn a signet ring on his RIGHT pinky finger at least since he repaired the Eastern "Gate" in the Wall of Eden, so I'm not suggesting that he adopted the 20th-century pinky signet trend to signal his queerness (although as a clockably 'gay' 'man,' Soho fixture, and member of the Hundred Guineas Club, he may well have started it). What I am suggesting is that Aziraphale has been given a ring by Heaven that Heaven intends him to use to show his professional affiliation, but as with the flaming sword he gives away, Aziraphale doesn't use the ring for its intended purpose. By wearing the ring on his right hand, Aziraphale removes the option of interpreting it as a symbol of his professional affiliation with Heaven and renders it strictly a personal ornament. He subverts a symbol of Heavenly menace into an object of beauty and queerness.

I mean queerness in both senses. If a human takes any symbolic notice of his ring, they'll note the signet is on his right hand and conclude Aziraphale is gay. If another angel takes any notice of it, they'll conclude Aziraphale is a bit odd--that he doesn't pay attention to the finer points of how to fit in with the archangels, doesn't do things like other angels do.

In conclusion, pinky signet rings as a queer signal are just the fucking coolest and I vote we bring them back immediately.

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

i am a man of my word. PHONE GUY BE UPON YE (rambling about him under the cut)

i havent talked about him much like at all, so quick infodump on him!!

he's around his early 30's in the fredbear's era, a very loyal employee who keeps working for fazbear entertainment despite the Rather Dismal Pay and Safety Regulations. he's present at the fnaf 1 and 2 locations, and the big scar over his eye is because he got attacked by foxy (his favorite animatronic :pensive:) but he lived!! (lost vision in that eye, however). he's well liked by henry for his dedication and william likes him because he's obedient and doesn't complain much even when overworked LMFAO. but hey at least they pay him... a bit more than the other employees! wow!

he kinda seems a bit shy from a first glance. he doesn't like confrontation and he's self-conscious about the scar on his face, people tend to give him weird looks because of it (he hated being stared at). despite all this he still tries to be friendly and helpful, never really outright rude to anyone. he's logical and likes to think things through before doing them, hates having his schedule thrown off, but he's a diligent worker and very good at planning. he's kinda lonely? he doesn't have many people in his life, his family lives far away (though they still maintain contact over the phone), and he's a closeted gay man and hasn't been able to find anyone to settle down with.

unfortunately for him, the closest people in his life happen to be his bosses and his coworkers, so he feels pretty guilty about the idea of leaving the company - especially when they're so short-staffed anyways. he's also not very rich, and the job isn't really that bad... right? /rhetorical

[gojuo]

Ryan condom forgot that after rhaenyras death we sre supposed to follow aegon if he wants to continue after nyras death so he can put at the end of the series the crown on aegon III, so he eather tries to make people view aegon possitively or have the series end with nyras death and the crown on aegon’s head and people will riot like they did with the mad queen end of got, either way he deserves the hate he is going to get at the end of hotd. But now that i tnik of it the series starts with rhaenyra doing a voice over telling her story so i wonder if he will change the end of the story and all the lore just to have finally a targ kween sit at the iron throne

i've been saying this since forever but making rhaenyra the unequivocal protagonist of the story + writing this show with a protagonist-centered morality framework + shoving 30 years of court drama and political intrigue building up to the actual war in a measly 10 episodes is a huge fucking mistake because

1. the portion of the dance in f&b starts with alicent reading to king jaehaerys as he lays dying, and the dance eventually ends when alicent herself dies. this is thematically important

2. daemon is the unequivocal villain of everyone's story in the dance, including rhaenyra's, and him staying that way is just better and (i'm loath to say it) cooler for his character & arc

3. like asoiaf/got, they should have had multiple protagonists povs spanning different locations for viewers to follow. the teams debate + emotional investment, stakes and satisfaction would have been far more balanced that way

4. rhaenyra dies long before the war ends anyway. like please think ahead when you're writing a show like this dawg

5. aegon just has a better character arc than rhaenyra does (especially if he kills himself). bias aside, it's just factual 🤷‍♀️

6. season 2's issue is the glacial pacing of character arcs (and some are... straight up just stagnant) while the plot moves its merry way along. we went from blood and cheese to harrenhal exile to rook's rest to regency era to now the sowing but the character work isn't there (and continues to not be there since the set ups and pay offs are almost all offscreened or nonsensical) because condal & co have structured the story in a way that skips 30 years worth of character work and arcs and relationships in favor of getting to the action immediately. they're suffering from that decision now in season 2 rightfully so

[lesbianchemicalplant]

But The Wind Rises declines to challenge mainstream Japanese society’s distortions and denials of its wartime atrocities. Worse, it echoes Japan’s morally dishonest stance that it was a victim, rather than a perpetrator, of a global war — a whitewashed version of history that the film now imports to every country where it plays. Consider the first scene. Jiro is a young boy; in his dreams, he heads for the skies in a wooden aircraft. A constellation of black dots appears above him, soon revealed to be a hangar’s worth of missiles and bombs. They dangle from a zeppelin embossed with the Iron Cross. The explosives fall on Jiro, reducing his plane to splinters. The rest of the film is suffused with this fear of German aggression, and it’s an ethically mendacious choice of a bogeyman on Miyazaki’s part. In The Wind Rises, the alliance between Germany and Japan — the original Axis of Evil — is conveniently forgotten, as scene after scene shows the Japanese bombarded by Teutonic suspicion, condescension, and hostility. Reframing the Japanese as the victims of Nazi racism deflects attention from the heinousness of the Japanese Imperial Army. But Miyazaki’s elevation of his own countrymen as morally loftier to the Nazis is only credible when the viewer forgets (or is unaware) that the Japanese military justified killing 30 million people across Asia with its own ideology of ethnic superiority. The Wind Rises continues this blame evasion throughout, evincing an ideal of pacifism while positioning Japan as the target of Chinese and American assault. We see Japanese planes downed by a Chinese foe in a mid-film reverie — a shockingly insensitive image given that Japan was invading China during this time, not the other way around. Later, an American bomber floats above a graveyard of burned-out aircraft over the defeated Japanese empire. In contrast, no Japanese pilot is ever seen shooting at an enemy, even though Jiro’s most famous invention, the Zero plane, was designed and used solely for military purposes. The consequences of his work — that is, corpses — are likewise absent. In the film, Jiro never expresses sympathy for the people his people killed. His grief is strictly reserved for the deaths of his planes. His preference to mourn his Zeros, rather than the planes’ victims, illustrates his soft-handed callousness. The bloodlessness of the film contributes to its whitewashing of an incredibly bloody history. No surprise, then, that The Wind Rises has already created an uproar among South Koreans (who haven't yet seen the film),  arguably the biggest recipients of Japan’s 40-year colonial cruelty (1905-1945). The Wind Rises’ specious pose of self-victimization will and should disgust the living survivors and their descendants in the myriad other countries Japan invaded during World War II: China, the Philippines, Vietnam, Thailand, Malaysia; the list goes on. It’s hard to believe that, were The Wind Rises set in an interwar Germany and focused on an idealistic dreamer who just wanted to design the world’s most beautiful U-boat and didn’t care a whit about the concentration camps, it would receive a similarly adoring reception here in the U.S. (At the time of writing, the film enjoys a 82 percent “fresh” rating on Rotten Tomatoes and has appeared on several best-of-year lists.) One would hope that critics who aren’t suffering from Japan’s culture of mass delusion about its war crimes would take into consideration the warped version of history Miyazaki has to accommodate and, to a large extent, perpetuates.

(2013)

[foreficfandom]

Alastor - Historical Trivia And Headcanons

Alastor was a mixed-race Creole man living in New Orleans, and was in his 30's/40's when he died in 1933. We don't know much else about him, but historical context can provide us with possible additional details:

The population of New Orleans in 1930 was 458,762, more than it is now. 27.2% of the people were black, 3.1% were foreign-born, and roughly half of America's bipoc population was unemployed thanks to the Great Depression. New Orleans' original Francophonication was still strong, and it was common to run into locals who only spoke French dialects (Cajun French, Louisiana Creole). The city has had a huge Chinatown, a small Little Italy, and multiple other districts known for their immigrant African/colonized French cultures.

The Jim Crow laws were heavily enforced, as was the 'One Drop' rule. If Alastor was a mixed race black man, he would not have been able to attend a white school, use the same public transport, and would have shopped at black-local stores and restaurants under threat of violence. If he was mixed with any other race, some Jim Crow laws didn't apply, but state or city laws might specify differently.

Just because Alastor wears a suit, it doesn't mean he was rich in life. Radio personalities often didn't earn a fortune. Unless he owned his own broadcast, he was paid by a private company for long shifts of hosting music, news, and radio plays. In 1930, 40% of households owned at least one radio, which means that a popular radio host would have been easily recognized.

If he was in his late 30's in 1933, he might have fought in WW1, so long as he was over the age of 21. Some cities gave veterans small benefits, or encouraged the community to give them jobs. This often did not include veterans of color.

New Orleans was famous for being one of the least Christian cities in America, thanks to its unique immigrant and slave population. Haitian-based faiths and practices (such as voudo), indigenous cultures, Asian Buddhism, and atheism were common. But Christianity was still the official, law-enforced religion. Schooling involved reading the Bible, laws were sworn to Jesus, etc.

Alastor's outfit in Hazbin Hotel isn't very accurate to real-life American men's fashions of the time. Back then, deviating from the norm with the smallest detail would have stuck out like a sore thumb - like his white-lined lapels. Men always wore a hat. They were allowed to go without a waistcoat, but not a jacket. Belts were becoming more popular than suspenders. The silhouette was bulkier than the slimmer, Italian cuts of our modern times, especially the pants. Hair was kept short, and oiled down in a side part. Americans preferred the clean shaven look. Ties were essential unless you were a blue-collar laborer. Colors were almost universally muted neutral tones for everyday wear. The most colorful textiles for men were sporting outfits, like a tennis jacket.

If Alastor was a middle-class single man, he likely would have lived in an inner-city apartment, in an ethnic neighborhood. He probably didn't own a car, and took public transit like the streetcars. If he owned a house, it would likely have been an inheritance, and even the more opulent houses of the time would have looked small and plain to our eyes.

Because of the Great Depression, unmarried men were becoming the norm, rather than the exception. Men of the community who were sought after but remained single were suspect to gossip, but less ire than you might think; in the '30s, American queer culture was going through a very sharp revival, escaping the rigid Victorian era and before the puritan 40's/50's. But as a mixed-race man, it may have been illegal for a white woman to marry him, as the Jim Crow laws forbade the marriage of white people and Black/Asian people.

A middle class city household would have had electricity, gas heating, indoor plumbing, but may not have had running taps or a gas stove. Even with decent means, Alastor might have been using a potbelly woodburning stove, a dry sink/washbasin, wooden bathtub, and did his own laundry instead of sending it to the neighborhood laundresses. He may or may not have bothered with an icebox. Fresh groceries needed to be cooked and eaten soon, as things like pasteurized milk or store refrigeration wasn't a thing.

If he had enough money, then he almost certainly hired maids or other servants. Whether the maid came over just once a week, or did the shopping and laundry every other day, hired help was much more common back then, especially if he had no wife.

The most popular musicians in 1933 were Bing Crosby, George Olsen, and Leo Reisman. As you might have noticed, it was trendy for the lead singer to be backed by an orchestra, not a 'band' of just four other people like today. The most popular radio shows were Dick Tracy, Sherlock Holmes, and Doc Savage. They were recordings the radio station would buy and then broadcast, or sometimes the actors were live on the air. The radio host was usually not the journalist - the production team was responsible for writing his script.

[twistedvanillacoffee]

Unlawfully Wed

A Random Twisted Coffee Fic Fix

I watched the new Matlock tonight, and immediately banged out this silly idea. It's an AU of my AO3 fic, Witch Heart, set in the 20's/30's era with Human Alastor and his lawyer, [Reader].

TW: mentions of blood, suicide and bad language

SFW, but Minors no mining. I'm not anyone's mother.

That smile. Oh! how it could turn a world. Swooning listener fans. Spinning crooked cops. Snaking viperous quarry. Yet, seducing only her. Ever her.

Turning the hand worn steel knob, the door to the interrogation room whined open upon that smile. That grisly grin gleaming of its guilty guillotines beneath spattered spectacles. She knew what he’d done. She knew why he was there. It was written in plain black, white and red across his tuxedo. He’d been sloppy. Again. For whatever reason tonight; usually due to that insufferable friend of his, Mimzy, who was better at getting him in trouble, than herself out of it.

“Good evening. Apologies for the wait, but I had some calls to make.” Closing the door behind herself, [Reader] moved to the seat next to her client. Instinctively, he made a grab toward it; hoping to pull it out for her. But as his hands were cuffed to the table, he only succeeded in making the two cops across from him jump to their gun butts. “Easy, boys,” [Reader]’s voice held a lilt of fun, “you’re acting as though my client is capable of something.”

“You’re not getting him out this time,” the detective across the table blatantly stated. Jake Sandersen; young, boy scout, clean as a whistle and twice as loud mouthed. Especially, in comparison to his partner, David Trent; quiet, chain smoker, and whatever wasn’t muscle was pure gristle. Both of them had been chasing her client for little over a year. At this point, he was top of the tree of suspects. Though, no matter how much shit they threw, [Reader] ensured none of its stink could stick.

“Now, now,” [Reader] tsked unworried, “you’re beginning to make this look an awful lot like harassment, racial profiling, stalking, and gross negligence of justice again.”

“Not this time, bitch,” Jake sneered; leering over her business dress suit in such a way, she heard her client’s teeth scrape. “This time, we’ve got him dead to rights. Motive. Caught at the scene of the crime. Weapon. And two eye witnesses. I’d like to see this fucker smile his way outta this, this time.”

“Yes, about that,” she sighed, opening her briefcase as she pulled out the papers she’d been gathering. “Let’s see, it was Avery Jessip who died, yes?”

“How did…” Jake’s eyes widened as a slow fury began to set in. He knew where this was going. The tune had already been playing in her countenance, long before she sat down. A matched pair, those two; [Reader] every bit the slayer in a courtroom as her client was in the streets.

“I told you; I made some calls,” she replied with an ease he wanted to slap. “My client was at a party all night. These are three sworn, official witnesses that he was there. As you can see, the Mayor, the Mayor’s Aide, and the County Coroner were there. Who, incidentally, as of ten minutes ago, already ruled Avery Jessip a suicide.”

“Fucking impossible,” Jake leapt to his feet, with a shove upon the furniture. His emotions bolted freely; unlike the table fastened to the floor, and the upturn of his chair. “A fucking suicide?! How?! He stabbed himself in the back eleven times and then sliced his own throat?”

“Apparently, Mr. Jessip was extremely limber,” she retorted, “the world weeps for the loss of his talents.”

A sharp finger flew its darted stare toward her, followed with, “Your client was fucking found at the scene!”

“A good Samaritan, responding to the screams of your two eye witnesses—who found the victim long after the victim was dead,” she expertly dodged his accusation, “which, I might add, cannot be considered credible due to the lack of streetlights in the area this occurred.”

“The murder weapon was a sharpened letter opener, that has his name fucking on it,” Jake slammed his hands upon the table, but neither of his opponents bounced an inch. “Explain fucking that.”

“If you ever went to the gift shop of the Radio Station, you would see an entire section dedicated to my high profile client.” She placed a stack of papers upon the table, and slid them toward Jake’s flattened hands. “Among them are letter openers, that are the exact same as the one, our unfortunate Mr. Jessip, used upon himself. As you can see, in these, Mr. Jessip was an avid, rabid fan of my client. These are all documents acquired from the Radio Station detailing his stalking and unrequited love of my client. It makes perfect sense that he would kill himself with memorabilia of his obsession. My client is lucky that Mr. Jessip decided to take his clear, unwell mind out on himself and not toward others.”

“This is fucking insane,” Jake ran his hands through his hair, walking a bit away from the table, “fucking insane. I feel like I’m on drugs!”

“Careful what you say in here,” [Reader] reminded, closing her briefcase in a few clicks before standing, “you might need a lawyer next. Now then, if you have nothing else, release my client immediately. Otherwise, I’m calling Judge Gordon and filing for your suspension. Obviously, for the past year, you’ve become as obsessed of my client as Mr. Jessip was. And I’m beginning to worry for his safety.”

David—the cooler heads of the two detectives—moved toward the cuffs. Fishing in his pocket for the keys while his partner began to spout off sharply, “What the fuck are you doing! We fucking have him!”

“We had him,” David’s tone was an even keel, “now we don’t. Calm down, before you give yourself a heart attack. With scum like this, there’s always tomorrow. He can’t help it…it’s in his fucking blood…” David’s knowing stare bore deep into the silent laughing glint of the splattered spectacles.

In a click and clink, the wrists were free for fingers to rub. His tall, lean, angular body rose to tower a few inches above the cops that had once ranted and raved. Oh, how delicious it was to see their pained faces as he breathed his freedom. “Always a pleasure,” he stated with a wicked glee. Watching as Jake wound up to take a swing, but David held him back—stating how it wasn’t worth it.

[Reader] loudly clacked her heels to the door; drawing everyone’s attention as she opened it wide. Hearing behind her as Jake howled, “Just you fucking wait. That man is gonna run outta people to kill, and there will be just you. Bleeding out on the floor. And when that happens, when I come upon your crime scene, I’m gonna take a piss right in that pretty fucking mouth of yours.”

“So,” she tilted her head to the side, “you admit that you tamper with evidence at crime scenes.” Moving her attention toward the one-way glass window she stated, “Make sure that’s added to the record in my client’s growing file here. I’d hate to think that someone, as dumb as this cop, is getting away with miscarriages of justice such as that.”

Motioning to her client to go first, who did his very best not to laugh abruptly, she followed behind him out of the room. Neither one spoke; they knew the drill. No where was safe inside the precinct building. Once outside, she walked to her car; the waiting driver immediately starting the engine upon seeing her. Entering into the back seat, she closed the door and pulled in a deep breath. [Reader] could feel her client next to her; slipping in like a shadow, as the driver began to pull away.

“My, what a show that was,” her client marveled, grinning madly as he stretched his acquitted arms, “and they say I’m entertaining.”

“Why do you do this to me?” [Reader] groaned, leaning forward to rest her elbows upon her knees, and rub her temples. “Out of all my clients, you’re by far the worst.”

“Are you mad, my dear?” he asked, turning his head with his most dashing of smiles to her. That fucking grin. How she desperately wanted to hate it, hate him, but despite all odds couldn’t.

“No,” she sighed, easing back in the seat to look at him better. “I know who I work for, and you idiots are all alike. Being mad at you, is like being mad at that dumb deer that ruins my garden. I know what I’m growing, and I know how much he loves it; so, we’re at a standstill. Just… be more careful, okay? One day, I might not be here to protect you, Alastor.”

“Perish the thought,” Alastor took [Reader]’s hand, and gave it a gentle kiss. Warm, affectionate, and full of the words he couldn’t yet say to her. “But should that day come, I doubt I’d need you any further anyway.”

“Oh?” she raised a brow, blushing at his lips lingering upon her knuckles, “Why’s that?”

“Because, my dear,” his eyes were a promise, his lips a swear, his touch a vow she felt in every fiber of her being, “after my revenge upon the one who got you, I’ll be immediately looking for wherever you grow your new, beautiful gardens in the afterlife—like the dumb deer I apparently am.”

[starrydixon]

Despair

*Requested from this ask :)

Era: 6-Year Time Jump Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Word Count: 4.1k Warnings: language, mentions of grief, cheating, descriptions of anxiety, self-doubt, Daryl being an asshole, angst

Summary: When his brother’s disappearance becomes too much to bear, Daryl isolates himself in the woods, away from his community and from you. When the opportunity presents itself to see Daryl again after three years, you learn what he had been up to.

A/N: I found this request challenging (in a good way), since I personally can’t imagine Daryl cheating on his S/O. I didn’t want him to be sneaky about it, so I have him being upfront and fessing up to what he had done. I hope you enjoy reading, especially the anon that requested!! ❤️💗

Rick Grimes was one of, if not the, best man you had ever had the privilege of knowing. It wasn’t an easy job, being a leader for a group of people who had turned into a found family, but he did the best he could. Every decision he made, he did it with the thought of keeping his family safe. Back at the prison, after his family had taken down the Governor and began to open their doors for other survivors, he had found you barely surviving in the woods when he was checking on his many snares in hopes of catching a few rabbits. After asking you a few questions, he offered you shelter with protective fences and a community to survive with. From that day on, Rick and the rest of his group had become like family to you too. 

With a new beginning at the prison, you were able to meet the person you would later find out was the love of your life, your person, and your other half: Daryl Dixon. After months of awkward greetings and one sentence conversations, Daryl and you started to become friends, which then started the years of being stuck in the friend zone. You had realized early on that you were developing feelings that exceeded the levels of friendship with the archer, but were too scared to act on it. You valued the connection the two of you had, and the thought of ruining it scared you so much that you would rather remain friends than act on the feelings you weren’t even sure he shared. However, the night after the saviors were finally taken down, and your community could finally find peace again, you and Daryl had found yourselves looking up at the sparkling stars that covered the ink colored sky with love confessions stumbling out of your mouths. 

Rick had given you everything the day he had let you into the prison, so when he sacrificed himself on that nearly completed bridge in order to keep his family and the community he had built safe, you were devastated to say the least…and so was Daryl.

As much as you wanted him to stay at your shared townhouse so you could both grieve together, you didn’t want to get in the way of his own grieving process. It wouldn’t be fair to him or to you. If moving out in the woods alone, and searching high and low for Rick was his way of dealing with the sheriff’s disappearance, then so be it. 

At first, you would visit Daryl every other week and stay with him for a few days, helping him look for any evidence that belonged to the former sheriff, proving that he had survived the explosion. You tried to stay ignorant to Daryl’s lackluster attitude whenever you stayed with him, but soon it became too unbearable to completely ignore. So, you decided to visit him every 30 days with a pack full of new supplies at a designated spot that would change depending on which section of the vast woodlands Daryl was searching through at the time. 

The archer would leave a folded up piece of paper with the coordinates of the new drop off location written on it in one of the hidden tin messenger boxes that lined the main road that passed through all four of the communities. Although it began to become a bit tedious, you didn’t mind so much. All it meant was that you were able to see Daryl again, even if only for ten minutes. 

That system had only lasted for less than a year, since Daryl had decided to unexpectedly go radio silent on you. It happened when you were supposed to meet up with him again. When you went to retrieve the note from the tin box, you had discovered that it was empty. At first you thought Daryl was still in the same area he had been 30 days prior, and went to the large boulder you had met him at before in hopes that he was waiting for you there. Unfortunately, he wasn’t. Then, you thought he was just late; that he lost count of the days. After a week of relentlessly checking the tin box for a note from the archer, your mind began to spiral with the fear that something bad had happened to him. 

Since you didn’t know where he was, you paid a visit to the Kingdom in hopes that Carol would have an idea of what was going on. To your devastation, you learned that he kept in regular contact with Carol; letting her know where he was and which gridlock of the woods he would be venturing through next. It was clear that, for reasons you didn’t know and probably wouldn’t be able to even fathom if you did know, Daryl didn’t want you in his life anymore. 

So, with a broken heart and an uncertainty of where yours and Daryl’s relationship now stood, you let him be. You hoped that within time, he would reach out to you again after having time to process whatever pain he was undoubtedly going through. The pieces of your broken heart seemed to shatter into even smaller pieces every time Carol sent you a letter informing you how Daryl was. Although you were relieved that he was ok and alive, your hope of him coming back to you seemed to become dimmer with each letter that was given to you.

After almost three years of leaving the porch light on every night, and keeping fresh and clean folded clothes on the decorative armchair (that Daryl found to be an eyesore) that sat by the window of your bedroom, you had received a letter from Carol that informed you of what Daryl’s latest location was. 

You didn’t know if Carol was telling you this out of the goodness of her heart (or out of pity if you were being honest with yourself), or if Daryl had asked her to do it for him. Nonetheless, you weren’t going to miss the chance of seeing the man that you still loved again. Plus, you had a lot of questions for the archer that you felt you deserved to have answered, and a lot of things you wanted to say.

Packing up a bag of supplies for you and for Daryl (since you still had the habit engraved in your brain), you dressed one of the horses in riding gear and journeyed to the area Carol had mapped out for you. 

It didn’t take you long to arrive, maybe half a day or so. Once you had dismounted your horse and wrapped its reins around a sturdy tree branch in a clearing of the woods, you emerged from the shrubbery within the forest to face a riverbank. You figured this was the same river that flowed underneath the bridge Rick had blown up. 

With your mouth having suddenly gone dry, you were unable to move when your eyes found the sight of a pair of familiar angel wings. Even without seeing the signature vest that constantly sported his body, you would’ve been able to identify Daryl; having memorized the way his long and unruly stands of dark hair looked from the back of his head, to the shape of his distinctive broad shoulders and frame. 

After taking a moment to compose yourself, you stepped over the multiple traps Daryl had hidden beneath the layer of fallen orange and brown leaves that covered the forest floor. Clenching your hands into fists to prevent them from shaking, you tentatively approached the riverbank that Daryl was sitting at. When your boot stepped on a small twig that sent a surprisingly loud snapping sound through the still air, your wide eyes watched as Daryl’s head turned to the side in order to look over his shoulder. 

“You came.” When he spoke, his usually gravelly voice came out even more horse due to disuse. You weren’t sure if you were more surprised at hearing his voice after so many years, or by the fact that he didn’t seem surprised at your presence. 

“You knew I was coming?” You asked with a slight quiver of unknown emotion in your voice. You were now standing a few feet away from the archer, behind his line of vision. 

“Was hoping’ you’d come by…didn’t know for sure.” Daryl drawled heavily while shrugging his shoulders loosely.

Nodding your head in response, despite knowing Daryl wouldn’t be able to see you, you shifted uneasily on your feet. You didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you were here. After years of longing and wishing for this moment to happen, you hadn’t imagined it being this difficult. 

You felt as if there was a reason as to why Daryl was suddenly seeking you out, whether that be good or bad. As much as you hoped for it being good, the gut-wrenching feeling you’ve had  since receiving Carol’s letter was becoming even harder to ignore now that you were within Daryl’s presence. 

Shaking your head in an attempt to rid at least a layer of anxiety from out of your body, you shifted the pack full of supplies on your shoulder. “I–uh–brought you some stuff…I didn’t know what you still had from whenever Carol last saw you.”

That seemed to have gotten Daryl’s attention. Turning around to face you, you felt all the air leave your lungs and get stuck in a lump in your throat when your eyes met his for the first time in what seemed like forever. Despite looking more tired than he usually did, having a few more prominent worry lines on his face, and a seemingly fresh scar that covered his left eye, he looked like the same Daryl you had once known. For a moment, you had the urge to reach out and gently caress the new scar he had with the pad of your thumb, ask him what had happened, and tend to it with the small first-aid kit you had packed. But then the reality of your strained relationship hit you again, and you resisted performing that once common gesture. 

From his spot on the ground, Daryl seemed to be taking in your presence as well; judging by his stalled silence and the way his eyes flitted over your face and down your body. Swallowing hard, you averted your gaze from him when the tension was becoming a little bit too much to bear. 

“Ya didn’t have to do that.” Daryl drawled after a few heavy moments of silence had passed between the two of you. If your perception was correct, it seemed like he sounded a bit…guilty?

Shrugging your shoulders dismissively, you brought your gaze towards the sight of the rippling river. “I know…it’s just instinct at this point.”

With the way yours and Daryl’s dynamic worked, there were never awkward silences or moments of uncomfortable uncertainty of what to do with yourself when in each other's presences; you’ve always been able to find comfort within the silence you two would share. 

However, the heaviness and tension that sat between the two of you now, that had never been there before, caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up in a mixture of alarm and dread. 

“What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” Daryl’s voice broke you out of your troubled thoughts. 

Gnawing on your bottom lip anxiously, you shuffled closer to the riverbank until the toes of your dirtied combat boots touched the edge of where the water met the dirt. “I’m just confused about why I’m here…why now?”

Slowly, as if you were waiting for an inevitable blow to hit you squarely in the face, you turned your head to reface Daryl. He had a deep furrow in his eyebrows while the worry line between them was the deepest you had ever seen it. His teeth tugged anxiously at some dry skin on his bottom lip while his hands fidgeted uneasily on the tops of his perched knees. His blue eyes, which seemed to have lost whatever light he previously had left, couldn’t meet yours. You could see the gears moving in the archer’s head as he silently pondered over his next choice of words.

That alone had the nerves in your stomach flaring up and making it feel like your gut was being painfully twisted with sharp talons, or that you were being repeatedly sucker-punched in the stomach by a boxing glove. Placing a hand on your sensitive abdomen, you tried not to let yourself give into the sudden weakness of your knees.

“You wanna sit down? I got a lot I gotta say…to you.” Daryl admitted solemnly before swallowing hard.

“No…I’m alright.” Your response was immediate, and you would have been slightly embarrassed if you didn’t feel like you were minutes away from entering fight or flight. Daryl fell quiet again as he turned his gaze back towards the rippling water in front of him. Unable to bear the deafening silence and thick tension that was starting to feel like it was suffocating you, you attempted to coax Daryl to say whatever it was that was on his mind. “Whatever it is, just say it…I can’t take this silence anymore.”

It was barely noticeable, but after years of being close to Daryl and getting to know him inside and out, you didn’t miss the way he winced at the unusual sharpness in your tone. With a barely audible sigh, Daryl let out a grunt as he rose to his feet. Not bothering to brush off the dirt and leaves that stuck to his pants, he shoved his hands in the front pockets of his distressed black jeans. 

“Somethin’ happened out here…maybe a couple months ago,” Daryl began as his downcast gaze remained solely focused on the riverbed. “I stumbled upon her cabin by accident a couple years ago, just after–after I stopped talkin’ to ya.”

Her.

Her. 

For a moment, that was the only word ricocheting in your brain as your ears buzzed due to the sudden adrenaline rush that began to course through your veins. The nerve flare in your stomach became painfully more prominent, and the thought of taking flight started to sound even more appealing the longer the tantalizing pause stretched for. 

“For a while, we got to talkin’…’bout nothin’ really, but somethin’ about talkin’ to someone new felt good,”

Please stop talking.

Don’t break whatever’s left of my heart.

“I don’t know how or why it happened–never saw her like that…but I–“ Daryl seemed to suddenly choke on his words as his head ducked even lower in shame.

You knew what was coming next; you had seen it coming miles away despite the fact of actively trying to ignore it. Tears that you refused to let drop pooled in your eyes as your tingling sinuses suddenly felt as if they were swelling. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as the center of your chest caved in due to the heavy anxiety that began to settle there. 

“I’m sorry Y/N.” There was no gravel in his voice now. Instead, Daryl’s voice was soft and shaky. If your senses weren’t going into overload right now, you might’ve even thought he sounded like a completely different person. 

“Say. It.” You bit out with venom in your mouth. Your fists were clenched tightly by your sides in an attempt to conceal your increasing anger. Not being able to face the archer, you could see him turn to you for a quick second from your peripheral vision. 

“I–,” Choking on his words again, Daryl took in a shaky breath in an attempt to get the shameful sentence out of the confines of his throat. “I slept with her.”

When the admission reached your ears, you sucked in a sharp breath as your hands rose to rest on each side of your head. Your fingers slipped through the strands of your hair, the tips digging into your skull. Without your consent, the overflowed salty liquid that had built up in your eyes began to drop onto your cheeks and stream downwards towards your mouth. Your chattering teeth bit into your bottom lip as your eyes darted erratically across the expanse of water that was in front of you. It was like you were trying to look for something; answers, in the rapids, but you knew you would only find those in Daryl. Letting out a shaky exhale, you paced up and down the riverbank in an attempt to ease the unbearable anxiety and anguish that was now aching your body. 

Daryl’s mouth opened to say something, but he quickly shut it when whatever words he thought he could sputter out died on his tongue. What could he have to say that you would want to hear right now anyway?  All Daryl could do was watch you from afar as you reeled from his confession, and wait for you to speak first–if you even wanted to speak, that is.  

You thought you had a lot of questions for Daryl before showing up to his camp, but now, as you tried so hard not hyperventilate and let heartache consume every cell that made up your body, you had about a hundred more questions ricocheting so fast in your brain you could hardly keep track of them all.

What was her name?

What does she look like?

What does she have that I don’t?

How many times did it happen?

Does he love her?

Despite having all of these troubling questions, there was only one that you could barely manage to choke out. “Why?”

Your voice was quiet and horse due to the stain of suppressing the emotions and sobs of heartache that were building up within your chest. So quiet in fact, that Daryl’s enhanced hearing thanks to the years he has spent hunting, had almost missed it. But he heard you; and didn’t have an answer that you deserved. 

“I don’t know.” The archer whispered in shame as a bitter cold breeze gusted over him, which felt more like a slap in the face than anything else. Maybe Daryl had also lost Mother Nature’s respect, and this was her way of dishonoring him. 

Still unable to look at Daryl, you shook your head in anger, unsatisfied with the answer he had given you. “Bullshit. Try again.” 

Although there was a brokenness in your wavering voice, there was also a strong sense of demand and venom, which caused Daryl to wince again due to how unnatural it sounded coming from you. Running a stressed hand down his scruffy face, Daryl’s eyes darted over the dirt ground as he dug deep within himself in order to give you the answer you deserved.

He knew nothing he would say would excuse what he had done, and he wasn’t looking for forgiveness or compassion from you. Daryl just knew that you deserved to know what he had done. If there was any chance of salvaging your relationship, he wanted to be transparent and honest. He couldn’t carry on knowing he was selfishly keeping that knowledge away from you.

“Before, when you’d come to visit me…it was too hard. I felt like I’d just–just breakdown and have to deal with Rick not bein’ here anymore. I didn’t wanna face it, and I still can’t…so I put distance between us.” Biting down on his quivering lower lip, Daryl blinked away the stinging sensation in his eyes. 

“So, what? Did your sudden abandonment mean that it was okay to fuck another woman!? You didn’t exactly give me a breakup note, or anything for that matter, before you left!” You exclaimed while throwing your hands up in the air to further express your anger. This sudden surge of rage gave you the courage to face the archer.

“No! That ain’t it!” Daryl shouted defensively as his once ducked head rose and his eyes darted over to you. Squeezing his eyes shut once he saw you recoil due to his sudden raised voice, Daryl let out a heavy exhale as he tried to compose himself of the anger he was in no position of feeling. 

“Then why!?” Your voice now sounded desperate as your bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. Fresh tears filled with frustration and sadness pooled in your eyes again, making the image of Daryl blurry.

“It just happened! We were–we were stuck in her cabin because of a heavy storm outside, and–she was just there…I guess I just didn’t wanna be alone anymore,” Shaking his head in shame, Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the tears from falling from the corners of his eyes. “I thought I’d blown it with you, and that too much time had passed.” 

It felt like an invisible force had knocked the wind out of you when Daryl’s choppy admission reached your ears. You’d asked for it, demanded it really, but it didn’t mean that would lessen the blow. Despite being outside in the middle of a forest, you felt as if walls that weren’t viewable from the naked eye were suddenly closing in on you. A quiet whimper escaped from your throat as you sucked in a sharp breath, you lungs suddenly in need for more oxygen. 

“I never gave up on us! Even when you weren’t giving me anything to hold on to, I still held out hope!” You shouted in anger, your voice becoming raw and strained. Fresh tears escaped from your eyes and splattered onto the dirt ground beneath you. Daryl stayed quiet, listening, and letting you speak. “For three years, I kept a light on for you at night, and kept clean clothes set out for you on that stupid armchair you hate! If you had given me the chance, I would’ve been able to tell you it was never too late!” 

By the end of your sentence, your anger had morphed into sorrow. At the sight of your pained expression hearing how worn your voice sounded, sharp pains stabbed through the center of his chest. For a second, he thought he was having a heart attack; but Daryl knew it was just from the guilt of having caused you to feel so much anguish. 

“Rick’s disappearance fucked me up too, but not enough to cheat on you.” 

With your final statement hanging heavily in the air, you swallowed the lump in your throat and let the heavy pack that was still sitting uncomfortably on your shoulder fall to the ground. Slowly, you began to back away towards the shrubbery you had previously emerged from. If you had it your way, you’d be running back to your horse, but your weak knees and wobbly legs could only move at an excruciatingly slow pace.

“Y/N?” Daryl’s nerves suddenly shot up when he noticed your figure shrinking away. He didn’t know what else there was to talk about or talk through; the archer knew you needed time, but it still pained him to see you go.

“I–I need to go–need time.” You could barely form words, or even a sentence that sounded grammarly correct, but that was all you were able to sputter out before hopping over the hidden line of protective traps and disappearing through the forest shrubbery.

With weakening limps and spinning vision, you clumsily retrieved the reigns that had been tied to a branch and mounted your horse. Not wasting another minute, you commanded the stallion to take off with a dig of your heels and raced out of the woods. As the wind blew your hair in every which way, the sobs you had previously forced yourself to conceal were now wracking your body.

Unbeknownst to you, Daryl had, while keeping his distance, followed after you. With teeth biting into his bottom lip so hard he was drawing blood, the archer watched helplessly as your shaking figure got farther and farther away, and the sobs that filled the air became more quiet due to the distance that was growing between you and him. 

You felt foolish for holding onto your relationship with Daryl for so long, even when he was giving you every sign that said to let go. Before arriving at his camp, you had high expectations that were filled with a sense of yearning and hope of being able to get to where the two of you had once stood. Now, as you left with salty tears streaming down your face and a pain you’d never had to feel before stabbing at your chest, you were filled with a heavy sense of despair and betrayal. 

It felt like the pain you were feeling would never go away, which made you unsure if you’d ever be able to handle seeing Daryl again, or if you even wanted to see him again.

-

-

Part 2

[exnoiafork]

yapping about the phighting lore so you can spam this to your friends if they ask “what’s the lore?” 😍😍

In the beginning, the PHIGHTING/SFOTH deities were “born”?? “Made”?? you guys debate vro. There are 7 of these deities (however there’s an extra I’ll get to that later) and the world known as the inpherno was made

The deities are known as firebrand, windforce, illumina, venomshank, ice dagger, darkheart and ghostwalker

there isn’t much about ancient history in the inpherno yet so. (CRACK THEORY INCOMING) But around ancient times the “overseer” made their “cult” which will be important to the present day lore later

now to blackrock lore which is the.. um.. it has a lot of lore. Blackrock about 30 years ago used to have Zuka as a recruit of the army (they didn’t have robots back then). Zuka w a s a mercenary in the blackrock army and was very well known in the nation “everyone knew him”. (CRACK THEORY) However, zuka’s arm was probably sliced off by illumina, because he currently does not have an arm and despises illumina. Zuka adopted rocket, likely during his mercenary era

Modern blackrock lore, subspace and medkit used to work together, they are both around 23 at this time. However, subspace wanted chaos and medkit wanted peace so they had beef with eachother and subspace ripped medkit eye out and im assuming medkit threw poison at him , that’s why subspace has rot. After that, medkit was called a traitor and is wanted (messed up I know) .

Medkit escaped blackrock after more to that later . After eye for an eye incident, subspace invented these robots called biografts which serve different purposes (soldiers, workers, etc) . Hyperlaser joined the blackrock faction too, and is a hired mercenary by blackrock, kinda like Zuka. Hyperlaser was involved in a serious injury at the battlefield maybe and lost his horns and has a damn lot of burns. (He wears a helmet know) and works with subspace.

Lost temple lore, church of the true eye (overseer’s cult) is mainly in this faction. The people in the cult we know about right now are scythe, medkit, the broker and the dollmaker. (CRACK THEORY) it’s likely that all of the members were forced or manipulated into the cult since they are all conscious they are doing wrong things. Especially medkit, who joined because he needed to escape blackrock.

Katana was also formerly part of the cult, however he left likely because of the corruption. The cult has a father like most cults, he isn’t revealed yet. To join the cult , you needed to have only one eye. You will either skip the “ritual” or get your eye ripped out and replace it with a glass eye. I am guessing they are doing this to sacrifice the eye to the Overseer. The cult also presumably kills other demons that are either chosen or interfered with the cult’s plans, they are probably also sacrifices. Most of the members of the church are highly wanted criminals, scythe being the most wanted since she’s a serial killer.

There isn’t much lore about playground other than the fact that skateboard is the leader of a skating gang in the faction. Rocket left the faction because of a certain playground group (hold up)

A bit same for theive’s den, but vinestaff has a curse that is slowly turning her into a tree. In about 300 years she will be fully tree.. The curse is kind of rare but not legendary since broker has seen that curse before. Shuriken got a call from the broker once, however he likely declined because katana isn’t dead yet. Katana is probably a bit worried about the thieves den twins because of the church of the true eye.

thanks

[ironwoman359]

i saw your tag about how in 500 years we WON'T be calling britney spears' "toxic" classical music, and i am willing and able to hear this rant if you so wish to expand upon it :3c

You know what, it's been over six months, so sure, why not, let's pick today to have this rant/lesson!

To establish my credentials for those unfamiliar Hi my name's Taylor I was a music teacher up until last year when the crushing realities of the American Education SystemTM led me to quit classroom work and become a library clerk instead. But said music teaching means that I have 4+ years of professional classical training in performance and education, and while I'm by no means a historian, I know my way around the history of (european) music.

So, now that you know that I'm not just some rando, but a musical rando, let me tell you why we won't be calling Britney Spears or [insert modern musician(s) that'd be especially humorous to today's audience to call classical] "classical music."

The simple answer is that "Old music =/= Classical music," which is usually the joke being made when you see this joke in the first place.

As funny as this joke can be when executed well (this is one of my favorite versions of said joke, especially since this is a future world where there's very little accurate surviving info about the culture from the 21st century), there is VERY little likely of this actually being how music from today is referred to in the future, because, again, music being OLD does not automatically make music CLASSICAL.

If you'd indulge me a moment, have a look at these three pieces from the early 1900s, which is now over 100 years ago. That's pretty old! You don't have to listen to the whole of all of them if you don't want to, but give each around 30 seconds or so of listening.

All three pieces are over 100 years old, but would you call "In the Shade of the Old Apple Tree" classical? Or "The Entertainer?" Most likely not. You'd probably call these songs "old timey" and you may even be savvy enough to call "The Entertainer" by it's actual genre name, ragtime. But if either of these songs came on the radio, you wouldn't really call them classical, would you? They're just old.

Whereas Mahler's Symphony No. 5, now that sounds like classical music to you, doesn't it? It's got trumpets, violins, a conductor, it's being played by a philharmonic! That's a classical musicy word!

The short answer of why we in the real, nonfictional world won't be calling Britney Spears's "Toxic" classical music in 100 years is it simply doesn't sound like classical music.

.....and the long answer is that Mahler's Symphony No. 5 isn't actually classical either.

See, music, just like everything in culture from dress to art to architecture changed with the times, and therefore 'classical music' is technically (although not colloquially) only one of about four to five musical periods/styles you're likely to hear on one of those "classical music tunes to study to" playlists.

Our dear friend Mahler up there was not a classical composer, he was a composer of the late romantic era.

So now, because I have you hostage in my post (just kidding please don't scroll away I had a lot of fun writing this but it took me nearly 3 hours) I'm going to show you the difference between Classical music and the other musical eras.

These are the movements we'll be dealing with, along with the general dates that define them (remembering of course that history is complicated and the Baroque Period didn't magically begin on January 1st, 1600, or end the moment Bach died) :

The Baroque Period (1600-1750)

The Classical Period (1750-1820)

The Romantic Period (1820-1910)

The Impressionist Movement (1890-1920)

You'll notice that as time goes on, the periods themselves grow shorter, and there starts to become some overlap in the late 19th to early 20th century. The world was moving faster, changing faster, and music and art began changing faster as well. Around the beginning of the 20th century music historians quit assigning One Major style to an entire era of history and just started studying those movements themselves, especially since around the 20th century we were getting much more experimentation and unique ideas being explored in the mainstream.

Even the end of the classical to the beginning of the romantic period can get kind of fuzzy, with Beethoven, arguably one of the most famous classical (and yes he was actually classical) composers in history toeing the line between classical and romantic in his later years. The final movement of his 9th symphony, known as Ode to Joy, far more resembles a romantic work than a classical one.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself.

To oversimplify somewhat, here are the main characteristics of said movements:

The Baroque Period (1600-1750)

Music was very technical and heavily ornamented. This coincided with a very "fancy" style of dress and decoration (the rococo style became popular towards the latter half of this period). The orchestras were far smaller than we are used to seeing in concert halls today, and many instruments we consider essential would not have been present, such as the french horn, a substantial percussion section, or even the piano*. Notable composers include Vivaldi (of the Four Seasons fame), Handel (of the Messiah fame) and Bach:

*the piano as we know it today, initially called the pianoforte due to its ability to play both softly (piano) and loudly (forte) in contrast to the harpsichord, which could only play at one dynamic level, was actually invented around 1700, but didn't initially gain popularity until much later. This Bach Concerto would have traditionally been played on a harpsichord rather than a piano, but the piano really does have such a far greater expressive ability that unless a group is going for Historical Accuracy, you'll usually see a piano used in performances of baroque work today.

The Classical Period (1750-1820)

In the classical period, music became more "ordered," not just metaphorically but literally. The music was carefully structured, phrases balanced evenly in a sort of call and response manner. Think of twinkle twinkle little star's extremely balanced phrasing, itself a tune that Mozart took and applied 12 classical variations to, cementing it in popularity. And speaking of twinkle twinkle, memorable melody became more important to the composition than ornamentation, and many of our most universally known melodies in the west come from this period. The orchestra also grew bigger, adding more players of all kinds as now we didn't have to worry about overpowering the single-volume harpsichord, and additional instruments like more brass and woodwinds were added. Notable composers include Haydn (of The Surprise Symphony fame) Beethoven (of, well, Fame), and Mozart:

Pay attention to the size of the orchestra here, then go back to the Bach concerto. Notice how in that very typical Baroque setting, the orchestra sits at maybe 20 people, and that here in a Classical setting, there's nearly two times that!

The Romantic Period (1820-1910)

In the romantic period, it was all about BIG FEELINGS, MAN. It was about the DRAMA. Orchestras got even bigger than before, the music focused less on balance and became more dramatic, and there was a big focus on emotions, individualism, and nationalism. Discerning listeners will notice a lot of similarities between romantic symphonies and modern film scores; John Williams in particular is very clearly influenced by this era, any time I'd play the famous Ride of the Valkyries by Wagner in a class, the kids would remark that it sounds like it should be in Star Wars. A lot of romantic composers were German, including Beethoven, if you want to call his later works romantic (which I and many others argue you can, again, compare Ode to Joy to one of his earlier works and you can hear and see the difference), but you also have the Hungarian Liszt (of the Hungarian Rhapsodies fame), the Russian Tchaikovsky (of the Nutcracker and 1812 Overture fame), and the Czech Dvořák:

See how this orchestra is even bigger still? Modern orchestras tend to vary in size depending on what pieces they are playing, but the standard is much closer to this large, romantic size, and it's far less typical to see a small, intimate Baroque setting unless specifically attending a Baroque focused concert. Also I know I embedded Dvořák because Symphony From a New World slaps but please also listen to Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody No.2 it's one of my all time favorite pieces and NOT just because of the Tom and Jerry cartoon, alright? Alright.

The Impressionist Movement (1890-1920)

A bit after it began but definitely still during the romantic period, a counter movement began in France that turned away from the emotional excess of romanticism and focused less on standard chord progression and explored more unconventional scales. This music was less worried about how it 'should' sound and was more concerned with evoking a certain emotion or image, giving you an "impression" of an idea. Debussy is by far the most well known name in this movement, even though he personally hated the term 'impressionism,' lol.

Notice the way the periods build on each other naturally, literally, physically builds on the orchestras that came before, evolving in style and structure until you get to the late 19th and early 20th century when things were built up so big that a response to that excess started to develop, first in the impressionist movement, and then into 20th century music in general, which got much more experimental and, as we say, "weird." (frickin 12 tone scales, man)* *i do not actually dislike the sound of 12 tone, it's interesting and unique, but it is HELL to analyze in music theory, which is unfortunately when a lot of us classical musicians are first introduced to it, therefore tarnishing our relationship to the genre as we cannot separate it from our own undergrad anguish

Even if you're not a super active listener and you have a harder time discerning the difference between, say, late baroque and early classical, you cannot deny that the first piece I've linked by Bach and the last piece I've linked by Debussy sound completely different. They're both orchestral pieces (I intentionally chose all orchestral pieces as my examples here, getting into solo works, opera, and chamber ensembles would take too long), but other than that, they couldn't be more different.

Wait, so what are we talking about again?

Classical Music is first a period of music, a specific artistic movement with music typically written in Europe between 1750 and 1820 with a specific sound that is distinct from these other styles I've outlined here.

And Classical Music is second a genre. Because while academically and historically Baroque music is not classical, and Romantic music is not classical...colloquially it is. They sound similar enough that it makes sense to put them on the same playlists, the same radio stations, the same 'beats to study to' youtube compilation videos. While individuals may have favorites and preferences, it's not far fetched to say that if you like listening to one of these styles, you'll at least like one of the others.

But whether you're being broad and referring to our modern idea of the classical genre, or you're being pedantic like me and referring to a specific period of musical history (or modern compositions emulating that style, because yeah, modern compositions of all of theses styles do exist), I think we can all agree that, as much as it slaps, "Toxic" by Britney Spears is not classical music, and 500 years is unlikely to change our perspective of that.

A Traditional Ballad though?

Yeah, I can see us calling it that in 5 billion years.

(the full version of this scene is age restricted for some reason, but you can watch it here)

Anyway, thanks for reading y'all, have a good one!

[canyouhearmemajortom]

Well aren’t we “us” sharing pronouns now? So how could we separately heal?

God they’re so When Somebody Needs You by Will Wood.

Anyways my take on Arthur and John, I made this before looking at any other fanart based on the vibes and this is what I came up with. The 1920’s-30’s are one of my hyperfixations so I had to make Arthur’s hair and clothes into something befitting of a gentleman of the era.

This was also started while listening to the first few episodes which is why Arthur doesn’t have his signature scars, sorry.

I was however surprised to find that my John design had similarities with several others I’ve seen, I figured out he was probably The King In Yellow pretty quickly and added it into my design with the hopes that I wasn’t wrong. I just wasn’t expecting Arthur to romance the eldritch God in his head.

Hopefully I’ll make more art, I really want to draw Oscar and Kane because my visions for them are really fun, especially Kane who I have twoversions of which I think he would appreciate. But that’s all up to energy. I’m already on part 40 and I want to cry!!

[where-are-the-spooky-gays-2]

I literally get so mad about the pole dancing pictures. He used his USUALLY SUGGESTIVE AND MATURE CHARACTER to do a prompt that is ASSOCIATED with maturity and WASN'T EVEN SHOWING HIMSELF OFF and it was apparently so bad he had to delete them?

Pole dancing is a sport for a lot of people? People use it to work out and train themselves and their strength. Just because you (vague you, not a specific you) see it sexually, doesn't mean everyone else does! AND HE HAD CLOTHES ON.

They were up for such a short amount of time I straight up forgot they existed to be so real with you.

Plus. Is this man never allowed to be mature? He's a grown ass man. He's in his thirties. Why is this a "Mmm maybe not, Thomas" moment? Why does the fandom ever get to do that? People also bullied him over Virgil's fuckin skirt outfit. And the belt not "sitting on the hip"

Maybe he did that because the character is emo and that was a major part of emo style! May-fuckin-be!

Sorry I get so heated over this. Ugh. He's an adult. He was a young adult during the prime time emo era. He's an adult. He can do what he wants. If he wants to do pole dancing pictures (IN CHARACTER) he should be allowed to. Ugh.

What a way to start my morning (it's 6:30 LMAO)

Anyway pole dancer Remus and Virgil live in my heart and give me so many ideas I love them.

Have a good day y'all

— 👑

Fucking T H I S!!! Literally Pole dancing (very much like belly dancing) is N O T fucking sexual unless the person is doing it with that intent!!! It's an art that takes S O much fucking upper body strength and skill and the fact that people were harassing Thomas for probably the most tame pics of him in Ree costume of all things baffles me!!! (They hear pole dancing and immediately equate it to strippers just wait till they find out what's also that long metal pole at parks and Firefighters HQs /sarcasm) What's even more wild is that these are the exact same people saying "Stop babying Thomas he's a grown man >:}(" whenever this man gets harassed for swearing and immediately become hypocrites when he does shit to express himself and be more comfortable with his body (Majority of it being him shirtless at most and fucking clothed) I was so pissed about the Vee skirt look harassment too especially knowing the exact context on why it happened in the first place and I'm so fucking glad he didn't delete those... As someone who's been in this fandom since 2017 people just want a reason to hate him because I will never get over the time he got harassed for supporting Ace people if you don't like him just do yourself a favor and fucking leave it's as simple as that (Also R E A L 👑 Anon pole dancer!Ree and Vee S H O U L D live in your heart they're so beloved and you too <3)

[nychthemeron-rants]

How old the cast was when they died gives me massive brainrot. Especially Angel and Husk.

Angel was in his mid-30's. He gives young adult vibes but he lived to be a grown ass man that (especially in the 40's when he died) would have been expected to have a house, a wife, and kids (again, 1940's societal expectations, whether or not gay mobster Anthony had any of that IDK). And again, this man could have very much fought in WW2 and died a fucking veteran. His age matches up, he would have been in his early 30's/ late 20's when the draft started in the US. (Assuming he was 35 in '47 then he would have been 28 when the draft started.)

Then you have Husk. The oldest member of the cast in terms of how old he was when he died. He was in his 70's when he died in the 1970's. A man born in the fucking 1900's if not the late 1890's. A man who lived to see insane societal and technological advancement. He also may have been a WW2 vet, he would have been on the older end of the draft, but still included in it. He has lived through so much just by virtue of the eras he lived through. This isn't including whatever it is he had to live through in his personal life. Like, not only could he have had kids, but he could have had grandkids. I wonder if he did, and I wonder if his grandkids are still alive, hell, his kids could still be alive too.

I hope we get more info on their human lives, because I have too much brainrot.

[bsaka7]

tagged to post my 9 favourite album with commentary by @mathewbaldzal !!!! we r two peas in a pod i think with having a lot to say about some tunes...

in no particular order...

different class (1995) - pulp. this is not my no1 album of all time because i don't have a favorite album of all time, but this album is in part representative of "getting into music" to me. i love 90s britpop, whatever that means for a random american and this is my fav of em all (though i do actually quite rate this is hardcore in pulp's discography). "common people" is one of the songs of ALL TIME. god jarvis's little sing-song sleazyness gets me. really, really, really great classic performance of it at glasto 1995...for some reason "pencil skirt" also always really hits.

home video (2021) - lucy dacus. the newest album on this list by a long shot, but it's had songs in my top5 year end lists since it came out. i've also seen lucy live <3. this album rises above some of the others in similar company (punisher - phoebe bridgers, the boygenius ep, etc) because i never get tired of it. "first time" "hot & heavy" "brando" and "triple dog dare" are nearly always standbys in my listening history. probably gonna be an album-i-listened-to-in-college classic forever...

songs of love and hate (1971) - leonard cohen. maybe none of my favorite leonard cohen songs are on this album, but as a single work, this album stuns me. possibly the most transfixing 44:21 i've ever heard. his lyricism in particular is -- i can't even describe it. the mix with his voice, the sparseness of the instrumentation at time, the harmonies. i'm not a big stories guy but in this, yeah, the songwriting, the stories. i don't think there's another album like this one out there, really.

if you're feeling sinister (1998) - belle & sebastian. the first time i heard this album, i thought i had never heard an album so perfect. i love songs off of it but i nearly always listen to it whole. i love, love, love b&s's early sound (twee, if you will), and stuart murdoch's lyrics really, really shine. this is one of my favorite albums to listen to when i have a headache because it's lovely to just, focus on but not grating at all. i really love "judy and the dream of horses" and "get me away from here i'm dying". really, a beautiful work

rumours (1977) - fleetwood mac. i was sort of scrolling through some of my playlists trying to decide what to put on this list (it's a bit weighted towards stuff that's in rotation now) and i couldn't leave off fleetwood mac (in part to represent the huge part of my music taste that is like. classics 1965-1980). stevie nicks was one of my earlier music obsessions (the OG was the beatles). so many wonderful songs and riffs. i know this was left off the original 12-inch but "silver springs" is one of my favorite songs forever and ever and ever...

nebraska (1982) - bruce springsteen. when it comes down to it, this is my favorite springsteen album. i do think his 1975-1987 run of albums is pretty much perfect but nebraska is a masterpiece in a way that i find hard to express in words. there's a sense of sparseness and distance in this work (in part bc of how it was recorded) that i find so utterly compelling i can't even describe. "nebraska" - especially this 1984 live version - is a perfect song to me. perfect. i also like a lot of the stuff that went into inspiring this album (notably flannery o'connor) and well. where it fits into springsteen's narritivization of his own life (dude was in the dumps).

all killer, no filler (2001) - sum41. this pick is a little bit representative of the era of my life where i basically exclusively listened to pop punk but if songs of love and hate is an album that's perfectly drawn out, this is an album that's perfectly compressed. like, the title is correct. this album is fucking TIGHT. i used to listen to it at a job i hated to make the 30-min intervals go by. and it's got such classics...."fat lip"..."motivation..." of course, "in too deep." SO good.

what did you expect from the vaccines? (2011) - the vaccines. maybe this pick is a tiny bit cheesy but it is a perfect encapsulation of the era of alt rock it came from. which i love. i really like the vaccines, i think they're super fun and i did see them in concert finally and they totally lived up to that. "wetsuit" is again...one of my favorite songs of all time. "if you wanna" is a perpetual banger.

age of consent (1983) - new order. again, an album that deserves to be listened to whole, despite how good "age of consent" hits alone ever single time. sometimes i think i like another new order album more than this, but i don't. sumner's voice just out-of-tune ringing out over that sound, that new order sound, the bass, that post-punk club vibe. they're a band that don't sound like anyone else, and this is the album most indicative of that. wow, every time.

a few narrow misses

boxer (2007) - the national. i didn't get the national until one day i did. "slow show." my god. hello.

very (1993) - pet shop boys. it's too simple to say this is an album about gay love because it's so embedded in it's context but. this is an album with so much love. psb are brilliant.

the execution of all things (2002) - rilo kiley. jenny lewis CALL ME. also like. you know "a better son/daughter". there's more.

a thousand suns (2010) - linkin park. i used to listen to this at 6th grade cross-country practice. first band i ever got into on my own. idk.

this is not only my favorite albums but a pretty decent summation of the broad strokes my overall taste. thank you again for the tag!! i enjoyed doing this a lot :). idk who has done this/on what blogs so if u have PLEASEEEEE send it to me i want to see!! i tag @lfcrobbo @upthebrackets @girlfriendline @odegoob @amandaleveille @thelittlebirdthatkeptsomanywarm @kritischetheologie @bright-and-burning @a-corn-field if any of u want to but no presh!!!